I was proud to be a Shameful Shitter. I was proud that I was the kind of person who could withstand the punishment of mess hall food at summer camp and only crap once the entire week. In the same way that a Toilet Clogger takes gratification in his special abilities, I was proud of my ability to keep my poop under tight reign. But the old saying is true: pride goeth before the fall. My past gastrointestinal victories made me haughty and arrogant. I mixed double coffee with whole pizzas, ate spicy food, and laughed in the face of poo. The Gods of Diarrheal Mayhem grew angry and disgruntled.

I was blissfully unaware of the coming storm. On one particular day, I had to take a friend to a work seminar. It was about forty miles, mostly on rural roads until you hit a very busy two-lane road with housing developments along either side. Her work was about three miles down further, near a retail center by the outer belt of town.

I woke up that morning, got dressed, and ate a banana and a bowl of cereal. No sooner had I finished my meal than my friend arrived. I was taking my plates out to the kitchen when that alarming gurgle echoed from my lower regions.

We all know that sound. Most of us know better than to laugh at it. Well, not me. After all, I was the Man of Steel. My friend and I got in my car and started our long drive across country roads. My friend made idle chit chat with me while my colon began to make chit chat with my butt.

I was sensing a battle forming on the horizons. Dark forces were gathering in the nether regions of my ass. I had fought many skirmishes with Montezuma and his troops before -- though other people had been conquered by him and incurred his revenge, my forces had always been able to prevent a breach in the outer defenses. But this time I knew it was going to be different. Montezuma sought vengeance, and this time he brought help. Yes, this was to be an engagement of epic proportions.

My friend was oblivious to my growing nervousness as I surveyed my options. I began to have serious doubts that the coming fray could be confined to an interior theater of operations. There could be collateral damage, like my car seat, or even my friend. By now we were far out in the country, with nothing but wide-open fields and farmhouses. The nearest gas station was fifteen miles away, through heavy traffic. The crops had already been harvested, so there was no cover for an emergency egress from the car. My conclusion was apropos for the situation: crap!

Montezuma's lead elements soon came into view of my forward observers. He had planned his strategy well. Included in his general staff was everyone from Genghis Khan to Napoleon. His troops were of such scope and number that they put the forces of Mordor to shame.

The first wave struck. My bowels clenched and I grabbed the steering wheel. My friend looked at me with concern. "Are you okay?" Shameful Shitter than I am, I smiled weakly and said, "Just some minor stomach cramps." I grimaced as my gut surged again. My front lines repelled the initial attack, but the reports from the front were not good: heavy casualties, defenses weakening. My brave forces had never had to contend against an enemy such as this.

Sweat started to bead on my forehead as I shoved my leg down against the floor beneath the brake pedal. My car passed a tiny cemetery with a couple of sparse trees in the back and, for an instant, I contemplated sliding to a stop and making for them. Had I then the knowledge I have since gained from PoopReport, I probably would have done so, and just used my socks and underwear for toilet paper. But at this time, such options never entered my shame-filled mind.

My friend continued to ask what was wrong. I crossed my legs together and pushed the gas with one of them. I cannot recall what my exact speed was at the time, but suffice to say it was expeditious.

My defenders fell back as the Dark Forces continued their blitzkrieg against my anus. The outcome was not looking good, but there was no way I could spin the results of the enemies' sorties. I was losing the battle. At this time, the country road crossed into city limits and turned into a packed two-lane gridlock of cars. We inched along, hemmed in on either side by cars and drainage ditches. I have never felt so claustrophobic in my life. I began to eye the bushes near houses with a certain fondness. But the prospect of shitting in someone's yard in full view of my friend and rush hour gawkers convinced me otherwise.

Montezuma sounded a charge, and suddenly took my already tenuous perimeter by surprise. He slammed through my lines and took up formations near my anus. The only thing stopping him was my die-hard ally: the sphincter. It was not going down without a fight -- but even it knew that this day it would become a martyr. Montezuma's troops were queuing up for the final assault.

The traffic continued to inch along. Minutes passed as I gritted my teeth, bit my lip, and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. I felt like a condemned man. When would the death stroke be dealt? I could feel the Dark Forces arranging themselves into a shit phalanx. That's when it struck me: I was being tormented. Tortured. Montezuma was taking delight in making me pay for my pride.

And then my white knight appeared on the horizon. A grocery store I had forgotten about! I gunned the engine, tore straight across an opening in oncoming traffic, and raced across the parking lot. Without offering any explanation, I threw the car in park by the door and waddled in. I knew everyone in the front of the store could tell from my expression and body language my destination. I didn't care. Being Shameful had proven to hold too high a price. Let the entire town know: I was going to shit!

The shitter was a crappy, urine-soaked abomination, but it might as well have been a beautiful woman. I embraced its disgusting seat with open butt checks, and gave Montezuma his satisfaction. My sphincter ran the white flag to the mast and opened wide the main gates. With a gaseous victory shriek, the Dark Forces poured into the bowl and filled the air with deadly smell. My body wracked with several violent tumults as shit shot out of me in a full-on cavalry charge. Anyone entering the tiny bathroom quickly retreated to breathable atmosphere.

After about five minutes, all of Montezuma's forces and allies had met their demise in the receiving end of the municipal sewage system. I checked for stragglers; finding none, I wiped and turned to survey the aftermath of the battle. It was truly horrific, with both good and evil casualties stacked in the tank. I flushed the toilet several times to take the detritus of the gastrointestinal battle to a fitting burial ground.

I came out of the bathroom visibly relieved, in front of all the cashiers, clerks, and shoppers. I just smiled, took a drink of water, and continued on my way back out to my car. I didn't care who saw me. I had experienced battle, and I had come out of it a changed man. Once I got back to the car, my friend asked me if I was all right. I just smiled and said, "I had to shit so bad it's not even funny!" With this pronouncement, I embarked upon my journey as a newbie Shameless Shitter.

-- ImperialStormPooper